


rain will follow

by rathalos



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AVATAR SHENANIGANS COMMENCE!!!, Gen, i love my friends, oc fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos
Summary: Achernar doesn’t normally visit the ocean. They’re more concerned with the space above them: endless sky, heavenly bodies, the dark infinity of the universe and the creatures that lurk around its edges. Sometimes, though, they like to kick back at the end of a pier, staring out at the waves, an unbroken expanse of water all the way to the horizon. It makes them feel safe, at home, comforted.Today, though... today is weird.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	rain will follow

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever shut up about me and my friends' tmasonas? no. absolutely not.

Achernar doesn’t normally visit the ocean. They’re normally more concerned with the space above them: endless sky, heavenly bodies, the dark infinity of the universe and the creatures that lurk around its edges. Sometimes, though, they like to kick back at the end of a pier, staring out at the waves, an unbroken expanse of water all the way to the horizon. It makes them feel safe, at home, comforted.

Today the water at the seaport is grey, like the sea itself is angry. Ships that hadn’t vacated hours ago, or ones that had sped up on the way here to outrun the storm, are frantically pulling into harbor.

Admittedly, Achernar had eavesdropped for this information. They own neither a phone nor a television so they get all their forecasts from dock workers with nothing better to do than talk about the weather—and talk they had. Achernar had spent about half an hour crouched behind a couple of shipping containers, fascinatedly absorbing all their talk of the coming hurricane.

Now they’re slinking towards the end of a pier, hoping to get as close to the water as possible. They have to duck and hide occasionally because they don’t want anyone asking why the hell they’re here—and they _definitely_ do not look like they belong, not even a little—but they know the drill. They know which corners to cling to, which paths not to take, which buildings they can cut through.

Today, though… today is weird.

They keep opening doors that lead to concrete walls. There are weird symbols sprayed onto the sides of buildings and Achernar has the nagging feeling they’ve been walking in circles even though they know they’re getting closer to the dock.

After the fifth time Achernar nearly falls into a trapdoor—and, really, a trapdoor? On the floor of a dock that is _directly above the water_?—they know something’s up. It’s the, the, oh fuck, what was it again?

Oh. Yeah. The Spiral. Or as Achernar had been calling it before they knew what it actually was, the Mindfuck.

(Gwen had busted a gut when she’d heard that one. Too bad Achernar is in the States now. They’re probably gonna have to visit her soon.)

Achernar sighs.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” they mutter halfheartedly. “Stupid Spiral.”

They never get an answer, as such, but they do manage to trip over someone in an impossibly green… robe… thing… covered with swirling, migraine-inducing patterns that Achernar can’t look at too long or their head might go ka-boom.

Ah.

Achernar wrinkles their nose, picking themself back up with a mild glare.

“You!” they accuse, feeling vaguely uncomfortable but mostly angry. “Can you cut it out with the door thing? I’m trying to watch the storm!”

The person tilts their head, overgrown bangs somehow fixed in place, and Achernar furrows their brow, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with their face.

“The… storm?” they repeat. The expression they make shouldn’t qualify as a smile, not in a million years but—Achernar gets the impression they’re pleased, though about _what_ is a mystery. “The storm! The storm. I know what you’re talking about. It’s nice, isn’t it? Do you like it?”

Achernar bites the inside of their cheek. It’s probably best to tread carefully here. The only other encounter they’ve had with anyone Spiral-aligned had been absolutely traumatizing, and they’re not exaggerating in the slightest.

“Yeah? Uh, yes,” Achernar says, slowly beginning to edge around them and toward the pier. “I mean, if it has something to do with the sea or sky, I’m all for it. You ever think about how big storms are?”

“I do,” they say, words overlapping in a way that makes Achernar want to clamp their hands over their ears. “You are of the Vast? I am Gabriel. You already know who… I am. Don’t you.”

“Yeah, sure do!” Achernar says, with thinly veiled panic, finally maneuvering so that this person— _Gabriel,_ if that’s even their name—isn’t blocking Achernar’ path to the dock. “Well… show’s almost starting. So, like, I gotta go. Take care of yourself! Also no doors! I don’t like doors!”

“If not myself, then who?” they ask, having turned a perfect one-eighty with Achernar. “Nevermind. You look like you have… places to be.”

“Yeah,” Achernar agrees, backing away. Though they can’t see Gabriel’s eyes, they know they are being watched. And they do _not_ like it.

As soon as Gabriel is out of sight Achernar books it toward the longest dock—and, incidentally, the most crowded one. There’s an odd pressure in the air today, Achernar thinks, a heavy, oppressing air they can only feel when there are two or more powers at play in a single area.

In particular another person catches their eye, one with bright green hair and bandages covering their forearms. They appear to be dusted with a light layer of sand, trailing down to the ground in a small yet noticeable trickle and forming a damp layer of mush on the ground.

As they pass Achernar by, talking with someone who doesn’t feel particularly out of the ordinary, Achernar overhears them complaining, “I was _supposed_ to be well on my way out of here by now. I just—I’ve been looking forward to this dig for so long and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. This was gonna be a big one,” their companion says. “At least the storm is only gonna sit around for, what? A day? Right, Dexter?”

“I dunno,” they sigh, pulling their hands out of their pockets. A shower of sand cascades from their hands, and Dexter glances quickly down at it, embarrassed. “I _gotta_ get back to work. It’s like, you know how when—”

They leave a path of wet sand behind them, quickly fading out of earshot.

By now the rain has started and the urge to get out there and lose themself in the sea is a nearly physical itch. If the dock wasn’t slightly slippery, with the risk of them falling over and cracking their head open, Achernar would be running.

As it is, it’s not long before they’re at the end of the dock. The last few stragglers are a couple of dock workers and a woman with long, curling blue hair that looks almost exactly like the sea behind her.

Unbidden, a disbelieving smile comes to Achernar’ face.

God, what is this place, a hotspot for avatars? Including themself, that’s… four. Yeah, four.

At least, they’re pretty sure the person they’d just passed had been associated with the Buried. Which, if you ask them, is kind of horrible. The idea that anyone would want _dirt powers_ is abhorrent. No thank you.

As they draw closer to the end of the pier, where the woman is spinning some fantastical tale about a horrible accident, about how her crew had barely escaped ahead of the storm and she’d been the only one left alive after—

She trails off, looking utterly downcast.

The two men she’s with glance uneasily at each other.

“We’re going to need to, uh—Joe, what do we do!?” the first one whispers, clearly panicked.

“Hell if I know!” Joe says, grimacing. “Listen, uh, miss…?”

“Marin,” she says, voice watery. The waves in her hair roll against each other, an angry crash. Sea spray falls away from her, fading before it hits the ground. When she opens her mouth again, Achernar notes that her teeth are sharp, jagged, deadly. Like a shark. “I—I better go file a report… or something…”

“Y-yeah,” Joe says, stepping aside to let her go.

Marin sweeps past the two of them, walking with a purpose, a set to her shoulders that she’d lacked just seconds ago. And Achernar swears, they _swear_ —they see the barest trace of a smile on her face.

She’s out of sight within thirty seconds, and beyond that, Achernar vows not to dwell too hard on it. It’s frankly none of their business and they’re not sure they want to know what that smile was implying.

Achernar waits until Joe and the other guy have cleared out, following in the general direction Marin had gone, and then—then they’re finally, _finally_ sitting down at the edge of the dock, kicking their legs out in front of them while the storm closes in on the harbor.

**Author's Note:**

> im [velocidrome](https://velocidrome.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
